After snapping and Harry dissappearing for a bit, he came back...with a vengeance.
Harry had a new vehicle and oh look his dogs that were living with him in his car had puppies and they are pitbulls and now they were ALL living in his car with him. Every time I walked by his truck carrying my broken legged puppy, his dogs tried to climb out the window at me. They snarled and barked ferociously and I was scared. Especially after hearing his horror stories about how his dog Daisy Doo was a "Biter" AND WAS KNOWN TO BITE PEOPLE SHE DIDN'T LIKE! I imagined Daisy Doo sensed my dislike of her and her pet human and knew she wanted a chunk out of my ass. I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to just disappear. I didn't need this crap right now.
Stressed I was, but I still remembered how horrible I had felt when I was mean to Harry so I did not turn him away. I tried to be as pleasant as I could. He complained that the mushrooms were not in season and no one had any work for him. He was hungry, cold and desperate. My heart broke when I looked into his Jesus eyes and I relented.
Me: "I know the Viking could use your help with so many things around here and… we'd pay."
I had a whole list of things the Viking needed done and I really wanted to surprise him with help since we literally were doing every thing by ourselves.
I decided the smell could be washed out of the house so I agreed to let him come in and help me paint while we waited for the Viking.
I honestly thought the Viking would be pleased to have help. However when Harry showed up with a friend and then stood inside by the fireplace all day while his friend actually crawled around outside with the Viking doing the wiring, it became abundantly clear I had made a mistake. Harry did very little to help me. He did nothing to help the Viking. Still I forked out the cash to he and his friend, bit my tongue and sent them on their way. The friend apologized for Harry's laziness as if it were his fault, and offered to come back the following weekend. I agreed, but he never showed. I WAS SOOOO ANGRY!
I felt I deserved that burn because I had been so rude to him before. This was God or Karma or something paying me back. I deserved this lump so I took it and shut up. We never saw Harry again until the house was nearly finished and we were illegally living in it. I say illegally because we hadn't had our final inspection yet, but were told by the inspector we could sleep in it.
It was dinner time. I was making a fantastic pot of “chilli mac”. All cheesy and yummy....when a knock came at the door.
MY GUT TOLD ME, NOT TO ANSWER THE DOOR.
My gut: "Quick, don't move. Pretend your a bean bag and maybe it will go away!"
But the Viking unglued himself from his Warcraft chair and opened the door.
There he stood. Harry, clean shaven, his dreadlocks gone, and he was not wearing Cammo. I was shocked. He wasn't surrounded by flies, and I could not smell him.
We listened to his usual B/S story and found that he had won some money gambling, as well as having a good mushroom season and decided to clean up a bit. I was truly glad for him. We fed him, chatted and then he was gonna again.
A few weeks later he was back, slightly more dirty, but not the horror he was before. I fed him, we chatted and he was off again.
I could handle this. I can handle Harry in small doses. But then...
Then his visits became more frequent. Each time he was dirtier. Smellier. His dogs more violent and menacing. His conversation more vulgar and ...
disturbing.
I didn't like hearing about his drug stash getting stolen. I didn't want my son's hearing this. I told him to stop and when he persisted, I begged the Viking to make him stop talking like that.
Nothing.
I was on my own.
Viking: "YOU FED THE PUPPY."
More visits.
More dirt.
His smell became eye watering. His voice like nails on a chalkboard. He flopped down on my nice furniture leaving dog hair and his scent all over everything.
Everyday...
The same thing. I was going mad. Once he leaned in my doorway while he was talking at me and his god damned pants almost fell off and I saw little Harry and the twins. I was mortified! THE IMAGE IS BURNED INTO MY BRAIN!
I began thinking I was overreacting, but the more I tried to punish myself for thinking about running Harry off with a rabid otter and some pepper spray, the more I started thinking about all the reasons I would be justified in doing so. I was conflicted. Five years of this lunacy. Five long years.
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